Stages
by TragicSilence
Summary: Oneshot. Wilson reflects on House's stages of anger. Kind of drabbleish, but I thought the story was interesing enough...ehh...


House drew in a deep breath. Wilson was getting him seriously ticked; couldn't he tell?

"No!" Wilson continued, although he realized House was getting agitated. "It wasn't just that bullshit attitude you got after your leg! You were always pushing her, always! That just gave you a reason to snap! You have to stop blaming her and your leg for everything. Damn it Greg! I'm not so sure I even blame her for going!" Shit. Wilson said it before he could stop himself. He knew it was harsh, but too much rage bubbled throughout him. It was too late to take it back anyway. And even if it wasn't, Wilson wasn't sure he even _would _take it back. House had gone too far this time, again.

House was completely silent. Not a word. Shit. Wilson realized what he had done. The third stage. Wilson realized then and there he was standing way to close for comfort with House in stage three. That could easily turn into stage four. And that was when all of the 'fun' stopped. Wilson had been there too many a times to go back again. He gave House one good, hard glare, and stalked out of his office. He didn't want to be the one to push House to stage four.

Wilson remembered when his first encounter with the fourth stage happened. Sure, he'd forgotten what they were yelling about and what they had said, and how long they were snapping back and forth, but after some sort of last words left Wilson's lips, he felt a hard fist come to impact with his jaw. His head fell to the left, force from the right side of his face pushing it. He looked up at House and returned the favor. People were lucky they weren't there. If they came close to trying to stop the two fist-throwing men, they may have become involved. Wilson even forgot who stopped first, but he remembered they ended laughing, complimenting each other on how well they threw punches. But that fourth stage, in the middle of it all…. Wilson shuddered in his mind.

Sure, most peoples anger was one thing, gradually building up with each shared word, each breath drawn in by the other, but it was always more or less on one level, starting with the severity of the situation before hand. Wilson knew House was different. His anger developed. Moved on in stages.

The first stage wasn't too bad, but terrifying none the less (this was House.) His tongue just grew more acidic than usual. He was snippier; looked like he would bite you if you got to close. He tended to keep to himself, though, in stage one. Just breathed easily until it dissipated. Usually.

Stage two grew more serious. Yelling and shouting. Just thinking about it made Wilson shudder automatically. House always had a strong, controlling, loud voice. When he shouted though, it boomed. Echoed through his mind for days. It was horrifying, in a way. You did not want to ever, ever be with House when he was angry. Stage two just proved it.

But oh, God. Stage three, what Wilson just caused, was completely mortifying in a very subtle sense. His eyes would get this insane glint, and he would stay in complete silence. He would just stare, not showing anything but that glint, that mad-mad shine in his eyes. His left fist would clench and unclench, right hand grasping his cane as tight as possible, as if the person that angered him felt what his cane did at the time. His knuckles turned white from the grip that was usually applied to his poor, unsuspecting, innocent cane.

Stage four. Wilson had been there too many times. Just too many. House was an unusually strong man, each hit knocking a bit of life out of you. The scary thing was, House wouldn't stop until you did. That's when Wilson remembered who stopped their first fistfight. Wilson just slid down against the wall exhausted. That's when he remembered, reflecting on his anger.

Wilson sighed as he walked towards his office. He knew he would have to apologize later. Or maybe go to him, bearing a peace offering or something. Chinese food, beer…anything.

Wilson wrote himself a mental note to buy beer, a few DVD's, and some snacks for his endeavor to House's place that he knew he would have to make later.

Wilson just hoped it would be at stage one by then. That he could deal with. He did on almost a daily basis anyway.


End file.
